


Glass

by yxuraffectionatelaurens



Series: there is a crack in everything; that's how the light gets in [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: ?? kind of???, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Cheating, Depression, Fights, Freeform, Hopeful Ending, I'm Sorry, M/M, Multi, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Somewhat, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Unreliable Narrator, What is tag??, just lots of pain, ridiculous formatting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-07-26 08:43:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7567645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yxuraffectionatelaurens/pseuds/yxuraffectionatelaurens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's always confused John, the way people disappear when you hurt them, until he is swept up and lost in the hurricane that is Alexander Hamilton.</p><p>Alternately titled, He Will Never Be Satisfied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

he rises before the sun when the world still smells like night air and still glitters with skyscraper stars. John is asleep in the bed, limbs tangled in sheets, wearing one sock and flitting between sleeping and dreaming. the radiator runs eternally in the corner of the living room, rattling just like how the old fire escape groans with warm breath from the july sun. 

when he groans and turns over, alex kisses the soft spot between his eyebrow and his hairline.

one. he turns off his phone, lets it sit in the bottom of his bag where he can’t hear the angry vibrations, where he doesn’t want to scream and tear all his hair from his scalp. two. he sets out two white pills for John, _click_ , scribbles something about the meds and adds a tacky heart on the end. _god_. three. alex usually only puts one shot of vanilla in his coffee, but he needs it today. 

John’s watching the morning news, and alex can hear his voice, muddied with southern drawl, laughing at the lady on the tv and her badly bleached hair.

the way the door locks has never sounded so loud when it clicks shut behind him.


	2. alex

**_i_**.

the keys.

a hairline fissure through the surface of the table, the way alex is feeling. the keys are splayed like a corpse, like John’s hair fanning out, a halo, as he lay in the grass, like alex’s heart pounding in his chest over and over again and hitting against his ribs painfully. 

he must have thrown them down so hard that it managed to chip the glass surface of the table.

alex is kneeling next to them, hands shaking as he touches the ridged edge. the awful teenage mutant ninja turtles lanyard with a thousand buttons, from rock bands to fantasy novels to bad puns to _John_.

_alex saw him standing there, curls bouncing behind him as he dropped to a squat to examine the keys. “look at this, it’s super fuckin’ cute,” John exclaimed, shoving the sample his direction. of course John wanted decorative keys to their first apartment, he was John. the silver reflected his face, and four initials had been printed into the surface. n d a t._

_he imagined how it would look when they handed it to the man behind the counter, watched the laser write their relationship in stone. he held John’s hand and smiled how well it fit. “sure, we’ll take this one. you think the landlord’ll care if we make copies for laf and herc?”_

_“man, hercules’s gonna give you an earful.” John’s laugh was a chorus, watching the locksmith program their initials in. alex was the first person to say he wasn’t softhearted._ John and i are the coolest couple you’ll ever meet, because we don’t act like total love struck idiots. the cheesy stuff is way beyond us. _John always laughed when he said that, and squished his nose against alex’s face with a smothering kiss. salt and pepper on his cheeks, as if John was trying to put freckles like his own on alex. people never knew what to do with their hands as they watched John mumble “that’s right, we’re pretty fucking cool” and laugh into his shoulder._

_these were the things that made sense to alex, that still seemed right when everything crumbled around him. when his palms felt sweaty to the point of discomfort, when words seemed to spill into him and crack his skin, when panic rose like bile in his throat, these were the things he clung to. when alex’s fingers spasmed, grasping at anything, everything, sobs wracking his body, looking for anything to hold onto that wouldn’t sweep him away in the hurricane of anxiety, John’s face was an island, a safe place, the hands pulling him back to the earth that understood._

_after the keys were done, the locksmith smiled and handed alex three keys. each one was inscribed with their initials, and alex would be lying if he didn’t say that the sight of it made him want to burst into tears on the sight because it was just so damn beautiful._

_a h j l._

_“do you hate it?” John asked, and only now did alex see the worry in his voice. his fingers trembled a little, but he handed John a matching key and smiled at the way it looked in his hands. he could hardly wait for the day that they would need only three initials on a key, where they would introduce themselves to people with one last name instead of two._

_that thought was even more tender and crushing than the first, and for the sake of his dignity, alex swallowed it whole._

_“i really like it, actually, i’m just… glad we can actually get into our apartment now. you want ice cream?” John was headed for the door before alex even realized what he’d just propositioned._

_they sat on the grass in central park among a hundred other couples, dripping in the hot sun and taking bites from each others’ cones. there were more things to hold onto here - John’s triple chocolate with brownie bits, the drips sliding down his fingers and blending in with his freckled fingers. alex’s tongue tasted both of John’s chocolate and his cake-batter-slash-salted-caramel-slash-raspberry. later, when alex’s fingers curled through John’s hair as John pushed him against the door, hands everywhere and nowhere and_ oh my god _and lips sliding against his as if he wanted to steal all the breath from alex’s lungs and was doing a pretty good job of it, he could still taste it._

_one of the sprinklers had popped a couple feet away. kids, barefoot, loose clothes, and hair pulled into tight ponytails sprinted through it, their shrieks of glee tainted with surprise at the cold bite of the water and the ecstasy of new york summers._

_alex didn’t remember everything about that day, and most of it didn’t matter. he didn’t remember crashing on the couch with John in hercules’ apartment, he didn’t remember what shitty 80’s movie they watched or what they ate for dinner. he didn’t remember the way peggy laughed hardest at all the dirty humor and the way angelica and eliza played slapjack on the floor until their palms were red. he didn’t remember the way John held his hand extra tight on the way home, because everything felt fine but you could never be too careful and sometimes the days where it was the best were the days you needed to hold onto the hardest._

_most people didn’t understand that. John did._

_but he did remember the way John shoved too much of the ice cream cone in his mouth, the way he practically yanked alex to his feet. in the same way the kids were screaming, John’s face had lit up, and he pulled alex towards the busted sprinkler as if it was the most important thing he’d ever done. he remembered the way his lips pressed together with determination, the way he finished up on the raspberry scoop of the cone John called a “flavor catastrophe” before John could pull him all the way._

_he would always remember the way John laughed and bit through a brain freeze as he ran through the sprinkler like he was five years old again, the way his cargo shorts soaked to his thighs and the way he pulled alex along with a laugh louder than the sun. it should’ve been drawn in every art piece, written in every long song, sang in every hymn, the way John slipped and fell in the grass, droplets of sprinkler water making him look surreal underneath him as alex pinned him to the grass._

_John smiled. “i guess one of the perks of being clumsy is that i get to fall for you like, every single day.”_

_alex was going to kiss him, until he said that. “Laurens, i swear, if you use that line on me one more time i’m going to…” it was an empty threat, too full of laughter and shoulders heaving._

_John was up again, tugging him forwards until they were under the fall of the water, surrounded by children running and shrieking and covered in the iridescence all around them._

**alex’s shoes are thin, slamming on the concrete steps, down, down, down. he has no idea where he’s going, just… walking. walking. ignoring a painful thud of a vibration in his pocket with every other beat of his heart,** no no no **. he hates the way everything around him feels like John, feels like the way John slammed his keys into the table.**

**a-l-e-x-a-n-d-e-r. he writes it into his skin with his fingernail, careful, gentle, watching the skin turn just slightly red under the pressure. nevis, in the eighties, brought many days where alex would tremble and trace the letters until panic washed from his throat and his head didn’t pound.**

**it doesn’t help.**

**the birds in the park leave feathers that dust the ground, pillows full of feathers, his friends laughing as they picked them from between the threads, sliding each feather out carefully without ever disturbing the stitching. martha always had too many of those pillows, soft, decorating lush couches with familiar indents. friends were always welcome in the washington home.**

**the trees carry fluffish, cotton-like stuff, he’ll be damned if he knows what the purpose is. to carry seeds, probably? they detach and float on the wind, and he watches the wind carry his soul with it, drifting away, as lofty as balloons like the promises he made John about their future together. he wants to catch the air current and flutter off into the breeze, to forget about the heavier things binding him to the ground, like the lies he told John about where he’d been.**

**his cheeks dampen with unshed tears, and alex rubs his face with his jacket sleeves and curses into it. he’s always been a crier, ever since he was a kid, ever since he was sniffling through his mother’s death and sniffling through the hurricane and sniffling through life like he couldn’t get a** fucking **grip.**

**once his face doesn’t feel so heavy, he breathes. pulls his hood up. puts his earbuds in. pretends he doesn’t feel like throwing up into the nearest receptacle.**

**the first song that comes on is fall out boy, and his head pounds with shame. it feels so wrong to listen to something that’s so John, that brought him joy on those days when they would drive up into the mountains and blast music and laugh with the wind in their hair.**

**he skips it so quickly that he accidentally skips the next song, too, and then he grits his teeth and keeps walking. his temple aches with something different now, worry, something he feels flood his system so invasive that he wishes to cut it out from his soul.**

knock knock knock

**they won’t want to talk to him. lafayette will turn him away. hercules will scold him with tears in his eyes. maybe that’s what alex wants - to be scolded, to be hurt, to be told that what’d he done was irreversible. that he had betrayed something near impossible to regain, which he knew, he knew it so well that he needed to hear someone say it.**

**lafayette answers the door and he falls apart.**

**tv inside, the colored light leaching across the wood floor. there’s a voice, and movement behind laf, and his cat curls around his ankles as he stands there.**

**and stares. and stares. and stares.**

**“what the hell are you doing here?” he asks, and his voice is flat and filled with hurt. something in laf’s eyes is dead.** what the hell am i doing here?

**a breath flits across his lips before he remembers to move, stepping forward and trying to push past him. “please, laf, i need to see John, i need to make sure he’s alright---”**

**breath sucked from his lips as he is pushed back, alex’s head fills with panic. he knows they won’t let him in. he needs to see John, needs to make sure he’s okay, to fix the hurt he has caused, untangle the knots he’s made.**

**lafayette shook his head, and a door slams somewhere in the apartment.** John. **the bones of the house shake around them. alex grinds the heel of his converse, feeling thin and worn out on his tired feet, into the** bienvenue **doormat under him.**

 **“** mon ami. **you’ve always been my friend, and i love you like a brother. but i’m also not going to lie to you, you’ve fucked up really bad and i’m not letting you in the house.”**

 **panic threatens to overwhelm him again, and he thinks of John sitting in the spare bedroom, fingers curled in his own hair, trying to shut out the sound of alex’s voice outside. but he can't stop from asking, trembling, voice breaking.** what have i done?

**“...but is he here?”**

**stare insistent, cold, broken on the edges of alex’s shattered heart, he rubs his temple. “yes. he’s here. but the last thing he needs is to see you right now, alexander, you’ve hurt him** enough **.”**

**“i’m not here to hurt him!” his voice spills angry, a thousand shades of red and yet a dull, melancholy blue at the same time. “you don't think i want to fix all the stupid shit i’ve done today? you think i’m here to hurt him more?”**

**lafayette looks at him, completely silent. “i don’t know what you want from him, alex. what would you even say? what do you think you could possibly say to… jesus…” he rubs at his forehead, red bags around his eyes, a blizzard of emotions like the fake snowstorm of cotton drifting around him and sticking to his hair.**

**“fuck, laf, i don’t know, i just… i want to… i want to fix this.”**

**his eyes press together like it hurts to open them, cringing, sighing into the doorframe. “do you even know what you’ve done to him? i know you want to help. but can you?”**

**he can’t. laf knows it. alex knows it. somewhere inside the apartment, alex is sure John knows it too.**

**“laf, i just want to know he’s okay. that i haven’t… that he’s safe…” a sob breaks through his throat, slicing him, cutting through every vein keeping him upright. he wants to tangle his fingers around his own throat, to take back the mess he’s created, to erase himself off the slate of John’s life.**

**nothing.**

**then, finally, a small sigh cuts through laf’s throat and he looks at alex like he’s trying to hold back a hurricane. “John was four years clean, alex. four years. congratulations.”**

**the door slams in his face before alex can say anything else.**

**four years.**

**jefferson is leaning against the wall three doors down when alex makes his way up the staircase.** one two three four five six seven. **seven steps to the door they use to call their own. alex presses his forehead against the door and muffles a scream.**

**a puff of artificial smoke leaves jefferson’s slightly parted mouth, and he watches alex beat his fist uselessly against the door. “i hear you’ve ruined your entire life.”**

**if he had drunk more than just a cup of coffee that morning, alex would punch his teeth in. red hot anger seeps through his fingertips into the door in front of him, his own key with those four initials shoved into the lock beneath his curled fist.**

**too many profanities, words slurred by his harsh breathing, one flickering light bulb swaying from the stucco ceiling above him. John would always put the key in the wrong way, until alex moved him out of the way, laughing, to shoulder his way through the door.**

**“you know what? you can mind your own damn business. if you think you have** any **right to tell me what i’ve done wrong after all the shit that went down with sally, then you can---” he turns to throw a fist, angry, seething, hating every word that spills over his lips.**

**jefferson flicks his e cigarette in alex’s direction. “want a hit?”**

**pausing, looking at him, alex’s fingers tense and then relax with the dismissal of his fury. “what?”**

**“do you want a hit, hamilton, or should i just let you beat yourself up?” a tiny curl of vapor trails off the end, disappearing quietly, wingtips scuffed against the ugly concrete. do george and martha know what alex has done?**

**“if i’m beating anyone up, it’s going to be you, you egotistical, narcissistic hypocrite---”**

**jefferson rolls his eyes. fingers curled against the door handle, about to push it in, until the purple swath of a waistcoat catches his eye again. “call me whatever you want, but i’m not a monster. if you need a place to stay, you can dump your sorry ass on my couch.”**

**alex jabs a finger into the cold white surface of the door in front of him. “i don’t know if you just haven’t been paying attention, but i have my own apartment. i don’t need your fucking pity.”**

**barely caring, puff of pompous vapor,** SLAM. **he slides down, kicking off his converse, trying to suppress another scream. this is all his fault and he knows it. John is all around him, singing in the shower, napping on the couch, sitting on the kitchen counter and laughing against his neck as he holds alex in his arms.**

**her lips are on his neck, panting gently as he unravels her, looking for some relief from the daily storm of her life. she sits on the table when they pull apart, tries not to stare at the pictures John has taped all over the wall, doesn’t ask when alex looks at them and feels an nauseous twinge of guilt in his stomach.**

**hurricane all around him, the world crumbling under a purple sky and crumbling inside a black and blue heart. water washes through every window, seeps into worn sneakers, curtains thrown back and letting the downpour into every crack and crevice. screams are swallowed by saltwater, people’s fingers slip below waves, the world is flushed into a whirlpool of death and terror and heat.**

one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine. **breathing into hands, breaths filled with water, water that soaks into his lungs and chokes him. John is holding him, hands on his back, repeating breathe into his shoulder over and over again until the skies are cleared and the hurricane washes away. sores on his hands, and alex reaches for John, reaches and reaches and reaches until John washes away too, and he sees his mother, pale and blistered and touching him until her last moments. the tide takes her with it.**

un-deux-trois-quatre-cinq-six-sept-huit-neuf. **body broken with sobs, more screams breaking through his heavy breathing, his stomach turning over and turning over and turning over until all he feels is heavy, heart wrenching guilt. he is shaking and panicking and---**

**forty minutes later, the shaking resides, and alex knocks on jefferson’s door. madison answers, wearing a bathrobe, and alex is too tired to knock jefferson for it. alex’s fingers are curled around the cuffed sleeves of a sweatshirt two sizes too large for him, smelling too strongly of John’s excessive cologne, decorated with a fading logo for John’s high school baseball team. he doesn’t deserve to be wearing it, but it makes him forget how much guilt and pain are bubbling in his stomach.**

**the layout is exactly the same as their apartment, but furnished so differently that he can finally breathe again. madison stands in the kitchen, shuffling about, making a late night coffee. angelica’s shotglass slams into the table, and jefferson pours more scotch into a glass already containing the last few drops of her third or fourth drink. why she’s here of all places, alex doesn’t ask, just drops his bag onto jefferson’s couch and holds the sleeves of the sweatshirt to his nose so he can feel like John isn’t a million miles away from him.**

**“hamilton.” angelica slides him the glass, decorated with the Mets symbol and drops of whatever emotions she’s drowning. “drink.”**

**he drinks, hot in a bitter, hard sort of way, scorching his throat. he expects more of the same type of reaction from her, the furious anger that made lafayette yell at him and that draped the scorn in jefferson’s voice when he had offered him a place to stay.**

**instead, he finds a sullen, quiet disappointment, angelica pinching the bridge of her nose as he drinks what she’s offered. he doesn’t ask why she’s not yelling at him already. just drinks.**

**two bright pills, yellow in color, madison drinking water as he swallows them, wincing just a little. alex remembers setting out pills for John that morning. when he’d returned to the apartment, they were still there, everything just as he’d left it. except for the keys. and John’s phone. and the blood.**

**of course John didn’t touch them. he said they always made him feel sick, disoriented, and he was certain after what he’d done, John wasn’t going to try and stifle the voices any longer.**

**but then he notices the way jefferson is looking at him from across the room as he flips through the pages of a magazine, examining alex more than the fine suits. his eyes settle on angelica again as she takes a drink of the three-quarters empty scotch bottle in front of her, her fingers tapping nervously against the hardwood.**

**“i don’t understand.” his voice is hoarse, looking between her and jefferson through the hair that hangs in front of his face. “why are you letting me stay here? me? why aren’t you yelling at me?”**

**not a heartbeat passes before jefferson is slamming the magazine down on the counter, sighing in exasperation. “** nope **, i didn’t sign up for this. i gave you a place to stay, that’s it. not here to talk about feelings. see you guys in the morning.”**

**the room smells like the scent of spices that curls off jefferson’s body when he leaves the room, and angelica’s eyes follow him all the way. her nails are painted a chipped black, but she doesn’t look nearly as dead as alex does, and she stares at him again with pursed lips. “look, alex. i don’t know exactly what you did, and i don’t want to. but thomas is being nice to you, and i’m going to make the suggestion that you take his offer and not be an ass about it. he’s probably the only person who’s going to show any kindness to you right now.”**

**“so he’s being a saint to me just because everyone else hates my guts? i’m not going to go soft on your boyfriend just because he’s not as rude as he usually is.”**

**she rolls her eyes, taking another drink. he contemplates how much it’ll take to get himself drunk to the point of no return, to the point when emotions are as flimsy as the canvas covering his heart that used to be covered in all the colors of John’s paintings, as flimsy as the excuses he tried to make for what he’d done.**

**“maybe, if you could stop being so damn caught up in yourself for ten minutes, you’d see that thomas understands what it’s like to go home and find so much of it missing that it’s impossible to stay there.” her eyes are a beautiful shade of brown, but steely at the same time, no lie in them. “maybe you’d realize that thomas understands what it’s like to sit in the middle of an empty apartment and scream.”**

**alex’s fist curls around a pen, the cap lost somewhere under the table, the tip dark black with ink. he started to draw on his hand, anything, just taking comfort in the feeling of the ballpoint pressing against his skin and making designs. he tries to imagine jefferson breaking down over losing someone you were certain you could never get back, and the image won’t come to him.**

**angelica’s eyes do not back down.**

**he sighs into a hand and keeps drawing on his skin. “screaming?” he tried to pretend like he didn’t know what she meant.**

**“i’m pretty sure the entire building could hear you.” something sympathetic slips into her eyes, and she looks at him with quiet fatigue. “all i know is that you screwed up, you hurt John, and to be frank, i’m tired of being pissed at you. i had my words with you years ago, and i warned John when he fell in love with you. i’m disappointed, i thought you had changed, but…”**

**“but?”**

**“but that scream was just about the fucking saddest thing i’ve ever heard.” her sigh is even sadder than the betraying edge to his voice. “and i hope you’ve finally learned your lesson, since apparently i didn’t do a very good job last time. so no, i’m not going to scream at you. just give you more scotch and hope you stop breaking people’s hearts, especially because i know you really did love him. still do, i’d wager. you’re wearing one of his sweatshirts right now, and, i don’t know… people don’t scream like that if they don’t really care. you don’t deserve him, but you love him.”**

**she takes a deep breath and kneads her forehead with her fingers. as she pushes the bottle towards him, she stands up, and alex wonders how soft her pink sweater feels. “i expect you’re going to get enough chastising from those who had higher expectations of you.” she glances over at madison, who still hasn’t moved from where he stands in the kitchen on his phone. “g’night, james. i call the bed tonight.” she disappears through the same door jefferson had walked through.**

**“fair enough,” madison mumbles as he scrolls up on his screen. alex swallows the scotch left in the glass and lays his head down on the edge. “and hamilton?”**

**his mumble is barely loud enough to be heard, swallowed by the sharp edge pressed against his forehead. “yeah?”**

**madison swallows quietly, pushing open the door to where the guest bedroom is in their his apartment, which is what he assumes it is. “there’s an extra blanket under the coffee table if you need it.”**


	3. john

**_ii._**

the phone.

John’s phone, wrapped in a five year old star wars skin, for his birthday. he’d left it on the couch, face down, a vibration shaking it against the old threads every other minute. 

alex’s fingers move from the keys to the phone, frightened, touching it like it’s on fire. stickers on the back, a turtle emoji and a rainbow colored fish from the aquarium. 

nothing looked wrong when he walked in. the comfortable sound of traffic outside still lulled the warm air in the apartment, the radiator still hummed in gentle consolation. nothing except for John’s keys shining brightly in the sun and John’s phone upside down on the couch. he never went anywhere without the thing.

 _click._ tired eyes, damp black hair hanging in his face, but smiling as he kissed the other’s cheek. his face was crinkled in a laugh, squinting on one side, but lit up in a giddy grin as alex pressed his nose against John’s cheek and kissed his freckles. his own lockscreen was the same picture, John’s ponytail springing up behind him, in front of the entrance to disneyland a million years ago.

_20 unread messages_

_jesus, John._

he tries to not focus too much on the way that John is encrypted in every part of the phone, on the way he used to hold it with one hand and text with the other so slowly that alex felt stressed watching it. his teeth press into his lower lip, fighting. where was John? where had he gone? why had he left everything here?

_to get away from you._

thumbs through the texts, wanting it too, to cut out the parts of him that ache for John with a shearing sharp knife, to cut cut cut until his soul falls away clean and doesn’t burn any more. most of them say the same thing, over and over again, a duller knife.

_the french fry - fuck_  
_the frency fry - has alexander told you??_  
_the french fry - i’m going to murder him myself._  
_the french fry - John are you okay??_  
_the french fry - one missed call_  
_the french fry - i’m so sorry John. i’m so sorry._

_jlau - ten minutes have ice cream_

_the french fry - i’m ready take as much time as you need._

he’s at lafayette’s place. relief? concern? guilt? alex doesn’t know. his eyes linger too long on where the word _murder_ sits in the middle of the texts, all too heavy, all too mingled with anger. he knows John won’t want to see him, won’t want to hear his poor excuses, but he knows he has to try anyways.

_liza - i just heard what alex did to you. if you need anything, i’m here for you._  
_liza - you’re probably sick of hearing that but you need to. if you need a place to stay, anything. hell, if you even need a sandwich or something, it’s on the house._

of course, she understands all too well, doesn’t she? John hadn’t replied to eliza. he probably hadn’t _because_ she understands. his body shakes a little, filled with anger at himself. _why can’t i stop doing this to people?_

_grandma mulligan - i’ve got a bucket of cookie dough with your name on it n u better get your ass here before laf eats it all. we can shit talk or we can not talk at all._  
_grandma mulligan - i think you kinda deserve a break_

there are other texts, but they all say the same. alex has royally messed up. does John need anything? alex has gone and done it again. John doesn’t deserve this.

alex touches his face, crumbling, and feels an uncontrollable weight crash down on his shoulders----

\---

\--

john can’t feel it when he screams.

it feels good, though, it makes his head spin with relief as he rips the lanyard from around his neck. the words pound in his temple again and again, a staccato rhythm, everything he’d read hitting against the inside of him. _he cheated. he cheated. he cheated._ the heartbeats echoing inside his chest don’t compare to the volume of those words.

_i wasn’t enough. i wasn’t enough. i wasn’t enough._

his entire life with Alex is on this lanyard, everywhere they’ve been together, everywhere he’s kissed him and held him and laughed with him. 

he wants to set it on fire.

the keys make a harsh scraping sound, like people running on tile, like a slap to the face, when he throws them on the coffee table. john is too sad, too torn, to cry. he hates how vulnerable he feels, like a disc scratching on repeat as his head clicks over and over again, scratching the words he prayed he would never hear.

it’s been four years. it has been the first time he felt grounded, had friends, had someone like Alex to hold him when he got migranes. he thinks of every night that Alex has wrapped him in an embrace so tight and warm that he forgets how to breathe, every night that he has told john how much he means to him, called him loving names, told him that he is Alex’s entire world. 

_what a fucking liar._

four years has been too long. only days ago, he knew how to stifle everything from those four years ago, how to push it so deep that it could not drown out Alex’s voice, raw and beautiful and real, telling him he loved him. there were songs from high school that used to be the only thing john could take comfort in, even if he would never admit that they did that for him out loud, and Alex knew them. he would sing until john stopped shaking, until he calmed down.

four years ago, Alex would tell him he loved him, and he believed it.

john slips through the door into the bathroom, and he wishes he didn’t believe it still. he doesn’t have much to hang onto now.

he doesn’t bother to clean up when changes, when he pulls on a sweatshirt with the longest sleeves, when he stares at Alex’s contact button for far too long and doesn’t call.

when he texts lafayette back, he doesn’t really know what he sends. he tries to type something in about ten minutes. he’s not the wordsmith that Alex is. he doesn’t know how to put the hurt, the disbelief he’s feeling, into words. if he did, it would be gibberish, phrases crashing into each other, his thoughts forming trainwrecks. smoke would curl off the wreckage, coming off the part of his soul that is charred, burnt, that stinks of raw pain and feels too much like Alex.

john drops his phone on the couch and leaves, numb, stifling every voice inside his head until all that is left is the one that wants to kill him.

_the street, lined in old leaning buildings, lit up in a thousand illegal colors. john laughed and clung to Alex’s vest, listening to the thunder shake his soul to the bones and the apartment complexes around them. “how did you even get fireworks, man? aren’t they illegal here?”_

_his tight ponytail bobbed as he shook with laughter, pulling john’s baseball cap down over his eyes. “hercules and i have our resources. you know i’ll get you whatever you want for your birthday.”_

_lafayette and hercules cheering, running in the streets, rescuing the charred boxes off the pavement before people could yell at them. in the windows overhead, people stared into the streets, some panicking when they saw the explosion happening in the middle of the street - more were cheering or looking on with interest. bright sparks, flashes of light, thunder cracking as the firecrackers blossomed into color._

_under a new york october sky, john laurens was finally twenty-two and the world had become a violent collision of absolute chaos and altruistic beauty._

_“what if what I want is you?” it was a tease, as every single flirtation between them had been their whole friendship, even if john really meant it. Alex grinned at him, shoes slamming against the street, laughing at the sky._

_Alex’s hand slipped into his as they ran towards their friends, which embarrassingly evoked a small gasp from him, fireworks still pounding against his ribcage. laf waved them in as they piled into the car, a mess of laughter, before he took off. windows down, music at full volume,_ heart-beat heart-beat heart-beat, _world dripping with the hazy new york air and those brown eyes._

_“man, beth’s gonna be sad she missed this,” hercules moaned, laughing as they slowed to a stop. john laughed, knowing hercules’ girlfriend well enough to picture it in his mind, her disappointed groan, the way she’d smack him on the rear with a towel and shake her finger before she jumped on his back._

_laf did an impression of beth so accurate that hercules wheezed and gripped the handle of the door, head lolling against laf’s shoulder. “hercules mulligan! next time you go out and cause a riot, you’d better drag my ass along or i’m breaking up with you.” he laughed the way beth laughed, and hercules’ shoulders shook._

_fingers still tangled in his, a warm hand, pretending they weren’t holding hands and overjoyed that they were. how it would feel to sit in his lap, to stroke his hair, to laugh against his lips, kiss the hairs on his chin-_

_the dorm the four of them shared, caked in warm light, a huge platter with too much buttercream frosting over crumbly chocolate cake - john felt the knots in his shoulders unravel, the loose grin on his face grow real. laf’s fingers stained with chocolate frosting, a couple bottles of cold beer, hercules plugging in the first disney movie he pulled out of the stash._

_the crinkly paper they used to fill gift bags was scattered around the room, along with john’s presents. Alex had bought him a star wars cover for his phone, to which john hit him in the shoulder and exclaimed, “hell yeah! finally someone who understands how to shop, going through my ebay history!” Alex didn’t deny it, laughing as john ruffled his hair affectionately. too many clothes that were soft and comfortable and decorated with the kind of bands he listened to - he slipped the_ pink floyd _one on near immediately. a couple new video games, some high fantasy books, an unidentified object john was pretty sure was a vibrator and was also pretty sure was from peggy schuyler, a box from his father he decided to open later._

_Alex sat at his side, fingers wrapped in his. john wondered when he should say something about the fact that they’d been holding hands on and off ever since he got back from class - but a bigger part of him swallowed the thought whole._

_his phone ringed four songs and thirty minutes into the movie, and he pulled himself off the couch. the lack of Alex at his side, his skin pooling with warmth from the places where their skin brushed together, made him slam back to reality, stepping outside. “dad?”_

_henry’s voice crackling through the speakers, and john dug his fingers into his curls. “happy birthday, jack. how’re you doing?”_

_“fine.” john thought of Alex, of the fireworks in the street, of the way he had been putting off this conversation for too long. reciting the usual, walking on glass around what he really wanted to say, listening to henry nod at every half assed report of life he gave. life was fine. school was fine. his job was fine. were the girls okay? that was the only question he truly cared about, but even so, he only half heard henry’s reply._

_“john, i’ve been thinking. harry says you’ve been seeing a girl, that things are getting pretty serious. this’s a step forward in the right direction.” john’s brain hurt trying to think of what his brother could’ve been telling henry, probably tripping over himself during an inquiry as to what it was they talked about over long phone calls. if harry told their father the truth, what would he say?_

_he sucked in a breath quietly, leaning on the porch railing, sticky sweet summer air on the college campus. some students a few doors down were having a party so loud that the music was giving him a headache from here. down on the lawn of the dorm square, he wondered if the grass felt soft, or if people passing could smell the remnants of fireworks on laf’s camaro. “well, i’m not.”_

_henry sighed, disappointment dripping from his tone. “that’s what i feared. john, when are you going to settle down? make something of yourself?”_

_“why do you want me to get married so badly,_ henry?” _if you could hear someone cringe, john was listening to henry laurens cringe somewhere on the other end of the phone. fireflies, wings burning against the sky, Alex’s eyes a million colors, lit up by fireworks ---_

_“i want you to have the best life.” it sounded colder than he expected, like the words were flat and dry. john rubbed his forearm and winced._

_a moment passed, john’s lips pursed against the october cold. “what if i don’t get married?”_

_“that’s not part of the plan. you’ll find a woman you love and settle. even if you’re going to mess up everything else, there’s always that.”_

_“no, i don’t want to get married. at least, not…” his phone feels hot against his cheek. it spilled out of his mouth before he could stop it, words slipping off his tongue as he gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. henry couldn’t touch him from here. he was safe here. courage filled him in an instant, and he had out with it. “dad, i’m gay.”_

_breath. sharp in henry’s throat, sharper in john’s ear. the line went cold._

_too many minutes passed, silent heartbeat echoing in the party nearby. the night clicked with the sound of cars driving too fast down the road, john nibbling on his fingertips, his friends laughing at the movie inside. he felt… peace? worry? dread?_

_he felt new. john’s fingertips danced on the railing, stained with frost from years of age, dirt in flowery patterns on the concrete._

_the glass door slid open behind him, and Alex, Alex, Alex. Alex sliding up next to him, forearms on the same railing, wearing one of laf’s sweatshirts, looking across the courtyard like he couldn't stand just standing and watching it from up there._

_“the unshakable john laurens, come out to watch the fireflies? piss on the neighbor's balcony?” eyes danced with amusement, shoving his shoulder._

_john was quick to correct him, was that blood rushing to his face?_ shit, think of something clever. _“i’m pretty sure that was you.”_

_“those idiots downstairs deserve it, don't let me stop you…” he stretched up on his toes, and john watched the way his hands held the railing. “oh, don’t tell me it’s lee and seabury at it again across the street, do we still have those binoculars out here?”_

_a laugh, almost bitter, hating the thoughts that pounded in his head. couldn’t he have a good day? one that didn’t feel like his emotions were being shoved all over the place as if the people in his life didn’t care where they went? just an hour ago, he had felt filled with life, filled with excitement, filled with contentment, and now, his hands were shaking, gripping the railing, feeling that overall uneasy rocking that wouldn’t settle. no matter what he was doing, he felt heavy, uncomfortable, like he wanted to beat himself into the dust, like he didn’t even deserve to be standing and breathing ---_

_“john, what’s wrong?” their eyes met. Alex looked at him and saw him, saw the weight in his soul behind his eyes. john hated how hard Alex was, because he had only ever liked soft boys with pretty faces and crimson cheeks and small laughs and who breathed on cigarette smoke instead of air, and Alex was nothing like that. he smelled like coffee and sweat and peppermint shampoo all at once and was all sharp angles and constant piercing eyes and when he looked at him, he took john apart in an instant, and although he welcomed the gaze, he felt vulnerable beneath it. Alex had never come out here to enjoy the night air or to tease him, he had known something was wrong the second john left the room, hadn’t he?_

_john found it easier to talk when he focused on the fleeting shapes of the lightning bugs. “i came out to my dad. he hung up on me. and i’d been having a good day, trying to have a good day, and i don’t know… sometimes i wish i could just shut everything off in there for five seconds.”_

_Alex’s lips pressed together, watching with empathy. john wasn’t expecting it when the arms wrapped around him, but his body stiffened and relaxed, inviting it. he wasn’t even remotely acquainted with john’s depression in the same way john was, had no idea of the way it smothered him at night, he wouldn’t want to hear -_

_“talk.” Alex poked him in the side, still hugging him in that concerningly comfortable embrace. the air smelled like cigarette smoke and pollution and, distantly, the murky hudson, and then there was the peppermint and coffee and adrenaline that came from Alex..._

_john took a breath, all too littered with sharp edges. “no, you don’t want hear, i promise, i’m fine--”_

_Alex’s voice was more insistent this time, shaking his head. “talk. about anything. just don’t stop.” dropping to a whisper, more gentle this time, “it helps, john, i promise.”_

_and then he spilled over, just like he did with henry, just like he does when the weight in his stomach gets too heavy and pushes anything out of him that it can. he couldn’t even tell if it was coherent, but he buried his face in Alex’s shoulder until all he could see was inky black hair and his head filled with the scent of too much coffee at four a.m. and the dizzy haze of his shampoo, and he talked._

_“i’m just tired of feeling like this all the time, it was supposed to be a good day, and then i messed it up, and i always do that and i’m sick of it. i hate that my dad is trying to control my whole life and thinks i’m worthless unless i follow it, which i really don’t want to do, but i hate knowing that it’s true and he doesn’t care about me beyond if i’m following his fucking plan or not. i hate myself for feeling that way, because at least i have a father, and i shouldn’t hate him, and --- it doesn’t matter what i do, this weight just never goes away, like i’m carrying one of those green hand weight dumbbell things around all the time in my stomach and i can’t get rid of it. i’m tired of getting yelled at for showing up late to classes because i drank myself into the dirt the night before, no, i’m tired of alternating between really shit hangovers and just drinking right back into them. it doesn’t matter how much i try to get rid of it this stupid weight just never goes away and it ruins good days and bad days and i don’t deserve any days and i’m ruining everything and i just want to die and i love you and you don't even see me and i just really hate myself and--”_

_one. “john.” slamming on the brakes, a shaky breath against his shoulder, a mental one-eighty to see where Alex has breathlessly chased after him, his eyes filled with a deep, longing kind of sadness. john dug his fingernails into his palms, ready to scream for causing Alex pain. he always did this, always hurt the people who cared._

_two._

_the world fell out from under his feet, and instead of slamming his heel in the brake, it was a crash into the wall, and Alex was_ kissing him _and his lips were just as soft as john had imagined and he was everywhere and nowhere and he spinned to a dizzying stop._

_he had thought of Alex as hard, something you could cut yourself on, with too many edges, but as they kissed, he realized his error. Alex was the softest man to ever touch him._

_it wasn’t hungry, needy, aching for more, but more of a gentle thing, breathing against each other's lips, eyes closed, Alex’s fingers brushing the back of john’s neck. the storm inside him stilled long enough to reach something between peace and chaos, something warm._

_and john felt like he was enough._

_there were things everybody in the world knew, things that everyone could agree in, even in a world full of opinions and facts slamming into each other on a daily basis. there were things that felt right, that no one could deny, things everyone knew just made sense._

_the world is round._ empire strikes back _is the best_ star wars _movie. the 70’s was a collective midlife crisis for the entire planet. Alexander Hamilton was kissing john laurens._

_it just made sense._

_three. Alex pulled away and looked at him, eyes softer than a blanket fresh out of the drier that still felt warm when you buried your face in it. fingers brushing john’s arm, the left one, which ached a little when he brushed over the wrist, he couldn’t tell him, Alex couldn’t know, he’d think he was disgusting---_

_“whoever’s been telling you that i don’t love you, that i can’t see you, is seriously misinformed. john, it’s never that i can’t see you, i’ve seen you since the day we met and your eyes and your freckles and sometimes it’s more like it’s hard to look at you - no, i didn’t mean it like that! shit.” Alex ran a hand through his hair, looking alarmed when john frowned at the words. “i meant that in a good way. as in, you’re so beautiful that it’s hard to look at you, that it’s hard to feel like i’m not running a marathon when you smile at me. when i look at other people, i see the moon, the stars, other distant celestial bodies with dim glows that just kind of light them up. liza’s a comet, herc’s ganymede - the jupiter moon, you know - lafayette’s a nebula, angelica’s a constellation, but you?” his hands were on either side of john’s face, stroking his cheeks, looking at him with beautiful, unresigned clarity that john hadn’t felt for ages. everything around him made sense suddenly - the campus, the fireflies, the clouds drifting across the sky, the universe that was standing on his porch and right in front of him. “john laurens, you’re the sun, the brightest, most beautiful thing in my whole poor excuse for a life, and i don’t know what i’m saying or if this is coming out right, but i promise that i will willingly get a small sunburn from holding you if it means i get to feel your warmth every single day and you make me want to be an astronaut like i’m fuckin' five years old again.”_

_silence from john for a moment, before he stumbled a response. it sounded more like a warning than a statement. as if he was, in syncopation with the metaphor, telling Alex he’d need a lot of sunblock. “i’m in love with you.”_

_“i know.”_

_john kissed him again._

_“you know the sun could explode at any second and swallow the earth whole, right?” their fingers were gently interlocked as Alex opened the door with that dastardly wicked grin._

_“if you say so.”_

_“if everyone's a cosmic body, what're you? you probably haven't even thought about it, have you?” john had been around him for too long to not know he was completely right. “and you know space voyages usually go the opposite direction of the sun, right?”_

_“dammit, laurens, if you're going to try to debunk every single metaphor i’m going to throw at you, i’m not going to have anything left to charm you with.”_

**a black hole.**

**that's what alex is.**

**is this his fault?**

**he feels a little numb as he walks to lafayette’s place, nails biting his palm, hands sweaty in the oversized sweatshirt. it’s still hot outside, trash drifting across the sidewalk in a pinball machine of people, lights and colors and people walking everywhere.**

click. **the apartment falls silent the second he steps in, laf looks up from the couch, hercules holding the cat, everything hanging in motionless suspension.**

**he feels numb as he sits down on the couch, slipping off his denim toms, pulls his legs up, and ignores the way laf wants to fold him into a hug. “well? are y’all gonna stand there and stare at me like i’ve got a third ear or are we gonna get this party started?”**

**and then they are moving again, walking around and turning on the tv and blinking and joking. motionless suspension snaps, hercules hands him a tub of ice cream - he already knows it's cookie dough, and good, because it's herc’s favorite - things go back to normal. john is grateful for any semblance of normal. hell, john is just glad they will sit with him and purposely not talk about it.**

**georges rubs up against him, and john wishes he wasn't allergic to cats, wishes the cat wasn't rubbing against the arm that burns with the evidence of the deep horror that runs in his blood under the purple fabric of his sweatshirt. he feels like his skin is cracking and his soul is trying to escape, trying to pour between the fissures. he’s been trying to rip himself out of this body for years, and the evidence has never been as blaring and ugly. laf won't ask. herc won't ask. he knows they'll give him the space he wants.**

**laf holds up, in one fist, assorted** star wars **movie cases. they're pandering to him now - it couldn't be more obvious. in the other,** into darkness. **silence hits again.**

 **“i don’t mean to start world war iii, but pick your poison.” the tv is a french channel lafayette must have been watching earlier, hercules is frozen against a backdrop of the air conditioning blasting, and** damn, it's freezing in here.

 **there is a silence which should be filled with alex, voice tripping over itself, rushing forward to snatch star trek and demanding they take that path. reflexively, john responds, “** star wars. **take your pick.”**

 **hercules sinks next to him, a spring popping, tangling fingers into john’s frizzy hair. “if laurens here isn’t tired of drooling over oscar isaac, i haven't seen** force awakens **since it came out in theater.”**

**“you’re a fiend,” john mumbles into his shoulder. “you should be glad i haven't disowned you yet.”**

**the movie is just as good as john remembers, he remembers to laugh when it's right, subtly moving to sit against hercules when he starts to shake too hard. he feels like he might blow away with every breath, so he clutches the couch with one fist, and doesn't let thoughts consume him.**

**ten. twenty. forty-five. alex is getting home from work now. he barely noticed when the movie finishes. ******

****"john." **john looks over to a worried face. hercules has left the room, laf rubbing john’s cheek. soft, small movements, just enough not to hurt him. “i don't want to hurt you, but i must ask… are you alright?”**** **

******anger bubbles up into his throat, but he's too tired to get angry with alex. too tired to hurt. “i…” the hurt hurts anyways, sharp in his bones, poking into his ribs, clenching a cold fist around his fist. it doesn't care if he's exhausted. it doesn't care about the thousands of words that he can't get out, about the way he feels he’s acting like a five year old kid who got their toy swiped and yet he still can't stop shaking.** ** **

**all he can force out of his body is “why?”**

**he feels numb when laf holds him against his chest, when his body breaks with frustration.** shit shit shit shit. **why can't he breathe?**

******alex is winning. that's what he gets for being weak. everything inside his stomach crumples, his arm aches. four years, fighting the urges, not listening to the red and purple bleeding down the back of his head all the time, watching the healing. Alex - no, alex - would sit with him and look at him staring at those scars, long and wicked and ugly, and would kiss them until john didn't look at them any more.** ** **

****look how far you've come, john, **he would whisper to his boyfriend, dark eyes flitting gently, kissing his cheek until john melted against him.** you’re going to live, baby, i swear, you're going to make it through this.** **

****what if i don't want to live? **john’s voice would be soft against his chest, knees pressed against his own, and all he can see is the sadness in alex’s eyes when he says it.**** **

****this is my fault. i deserve this.** **

******his whole body aches with fatigue, he barely feels laf holding him gently like he's afraid john will break, barely feels the way hercules touches his back. he doesn't deserve friends like them.** ** **

******all he can see is alex with a thousand girls that aren’t him, holding them the way john thought belonged to him. alex breathing against their ears, mumbling their names in his ears, moving in them, wishing it was them whenever john ran his lips over alex’s neck ---** ** **

******he half rants, half screams into lafayette’s chest for only a couple of minutes until he pulls himself together. he’s a grown ass man and he shouldn't be acting like a teenager still holed up with his homophobic father and the constant fear of being kicked out of the house.** ** **

******half pretends he can't see the look laf gives hercules, filled with disappointment. a part of the abysmal pit in his stomach wonders when they're going to tell him to pull himself together and stop worrying them.** ** **

******something has untightened in his chest, at least.** ** **

******then everything pretends to back to normal, and john is certain they're just as grateful as he is. laf kisses his cheek. he can't even remember what they said to calm him down or if they said anything.** ** **

******they spend the rest of the day doing things they normally do. eating junk food. watching tv. sometimes laughing in the kitchen. adrienne comes by to say hello.** ** **

******sits in the shower, letting water run through his hair, steam catching in his throat and making him feel sleepy. the fan above him distills the hot air, but it still sits heavy inside him, until he shuts it off and sits in the cool air that has sunk to the bottom of the shower. john has only ever gotten high once in his life, and although it scared the hell out of him, he feels the steam of the too-hot water filling the air, and wonders if it would help. he's certain jefferson could hit him up if he asked.** ** **

******tries to wash alex off his skin.** ** **

******when he walks out of the bedroom, wearing some of laf’s jeans, he pretends he hadn't noticed the way hercules has moved the shaving razors from the bathroom. he pretends like he doesn't see the disappointment when he walks into the kitchen, when he slides into the chair in front of the computer and fires it up. ******** **

whirrrrrrr. **laf is draped across the couch, eating a sandwich and from a bag of potato chips. john sees his tired face in the blank darkness of the computer screen right before it blinks on, motioning in lafayette’s direction. “toss me** syndicate." 

**********he watched his friend grasp at the stack of games and movies by his head, feeling around until he finds the target. john catches it when laf chucks it in his direction, earning a slightly frustrated huff from hercules in the kitchen, who's baking something.** ** ** ** **

**********“you'd better not be throwing my brand new game around. if you break it, your broke ass is buying me a new one.” why herc’s game is at laf’s house, john doesn't ask.** ** ** ** **

**********john pushes the disc into the slot - the sound of the game running is a comfortable one. “my broke ass wasn't the one who broke laf’s** mario kart, **if that's what you're hung up about.”**** ** ** **

**********hercules points a spatula at him in time with laf’s loud potato chip crunching. “you were involved, laurens, don't lie to me.”** ** ** ** **

**********he drowns out images of alex backseat-driver-style playing, lying with his head in john’s lap on the couch and claiming he preferred to watch, then groaning in frustration as john didn't make the decisions alex wanted him to.** ** ** ** **

why’d you save ashley, j? no, no, he's definitely the sketchy one, don't trust him. careful, there's a jumpscare here. go for the undercut. no, john, there's a chest back there, go back. if you're allying with the mages, you'd better be planning on romancing dorian. no, take the bigger gun. if you sacrifice hawke, i’m leaving you. join the dark brotherhood, the quest line’s better. oh my god, talion’s hot. use the bow, john, god’s sake. oooh, be a twi’lek. 

**********“peggy was the one who threw their remote through the wall.” john sighs as he gestures to a dent in the wall. it feels like years ago.** ** ** ** **

**********“because you took first,” lafayette refutes, shrugging with one arm.** ** ** ** **

**********john wanders the streets of london as evie, watching her fluid movements and figure whispering between shadows. “can’t help being a winner, can i?”** ** ** ** **

**********“not helping your case here.”** ** ** ** **

**********when he knocks, they all know who it is. no one knocks. most people ring or just walk in.** knock knock knock. ** ** ** **

**********john’s carefully built calm is rupturing again, backing up, watching laf walk to the door slowly. georges, stretching out on the carpet in the sun, hercules pausing with batter dripping from his whisk. he touches the door handle gently as laf does too, and the second he sees alex in the door, shaking and looking as broken as john feels, he stumbles backwards into laf’s room and slams the door shut.** ** ** ** **

**********the voice fills the entire place, frustratingly enough, and john threads his fingers through his hair, hurting, heavy, growling through his teeth until hercules walks in and pulls on the blinds. light bleaches the carpet, his toes, the bedspread. alex is still outside - he doesn't look out the window because he doesn't want to see him. he doesn't know what he could say.** ** ** ** **

**********“are you just going to keep pretending you're not upset until you shatter?”** ** ** ** **

**********“of course i’m upset. i want to rip his throat out,” john says, pulling on his hair, pulling on his heartstrings, trying to understand his emotions.** ** ** ** **

**********“one second you're fuming and look like you're about to break down, the next you're sitting around in lafayette’s clothes and staring at the wall. i’m kinda freaked out, john. i just want to make sure you're alright… and that you aren't… hurting yourself.” soft tone, voice dropping below a whisper. “this isn't your fault, john.”** ** ** ** **

**********john presses his forehead against the window, seethes with anger. “of course this is my fault, hercules. i thought he was finally happy with me, finally** fucking **satisfied. what did i do wrong? i can't understand how he could just-”**** ** ** **

**********a volcano erupts within him, cracking his stony exterior. outside, alex’s voice breaks with the same kind of pain john feels all over his body.** ** ** ** **

**********“laf, i just want to know he’s okay. that i haven’t… that he’s safe…”** ** ** ** **

**********feet against the carpet, a soft sigh as he touches the bedpost. “shut up. you know this isn't your fault. you couldn't do anything about it, and it was his mistake. and god, it was a mistake, but it was his.” he steps forward a little, looking out the window to where alex is standing outside.** ** ** ** **

**********“john was four years clean, alex. four years. congratulations.” laf slams the door in his face, and his eyes are red and heartbroken, fixated on a door that won't open.** ** ** ** **

i’m disappointing them. 

**********“you know he loves you.” hercules looks at him through a painted sigh, glancing to the window where they could see alex frustrated on the doorstep.** ** ** ** **

**********it’d be so much easier to deal with this if he thought, if he knew, that alex didn't love him. but alex has always been a horrible liar, and shit, if john hadn't seen the way alex looked at him. there was no lie in it, and john isn’t stupid.** ** ** ** **

**********“you love him so much, but maybe… maybe right now, you need to learn to love yourself.”** ** ** ** **

**********“what is there to love?” cracking, pouring through his skin, every word breaking his soul, fracturing him into pieces. “if alexander, the bastard, the man who loves me more than his writing, couldn't see anything in me long enough to stay, if his love wasn't enough to drown out his discontentment with someone as broken as i am, enough to make him go out and pay to sleep with women, women who are everything i’m not, how can i mean anything to anyone? anything to myself?”** ** ** ** **

**********he wishes he wasn't constantly crumbling against him, constantly needing his friends to gather him up in their arms. hercules did, holding him tightly, letting john sigh shaking against his chest.** ** ** ** **

**********“he has to make a show out of everything, doesn't he? he has to make it as fuckin’ painful as possible for everyone involved. i hate him! i want to grab him and beat him into the dust, hit him and hit him and hit him until he bleeds and how could he do this to me? i…” he breaks on the letter, steady breathing against hercules’ chest, trying to breathe himself out of a panic attack.** ** ** ** **

**********“john. if this was your fault, laf wouldn't let you stay here. he loves both of you too much for that.”** ** ** ** **

**********anger fizzling to a stop, alex all around him, a slow nod. threaded through the fabric of his jeans, in the way teardrops catch in his eyelashes and disappear in whatever facade there's left to maintain.** ** ** ** **

**********when he doesn't respond, hercules touches gently on his arms and his face, as if he's trying to prod a response out of him. “stop it. i know you're upset. let yourself be.”** ** ** ** **

**********he doesn't feel angry any more. he doesn't feel so blank. john stops pretending, and as he stops pretending, he lets everything slide off his back, all his anger and confusion and numbness and desire to remain stoic and emotionless slipping into some obsolete corner of his mind. he stops pretending that he's not hurting. stops pretending that he doesn't love alex and that that's not why it hurts so much.** ** ** ** **

**********not a bursting into sobs type of crying, but more like, a slow, painful type of crying, folded against hercules chest and letting his body overwhelm itself in hurt. hurt, hurt, hurt, sharp and unavoidable and deep.** ** ** ** **

**********folded in hercules’ arms, his own stinging, sometimes there’s laf there too, wrapped around him and letting him hurt and aching. sometimes he’s lying on laf’s bed, sometimes he’s standing and staring out the window at the lights across the street, at the outline of where alex stood not long ago, a slip of a figure on the doorstep, a shaking hand brushing the door, a brushstroke away from disappearing entirely.** ** ** ** **

**********time passes in an irregular manner when your heartbeat doesn’t quite match up, when your body wants to go slower than the whirl of the world around you. they’re around him, points of fixed color, laf and hercules offering what support they can. he’s grateful for it, even if he can see the anger rippling beneath their skin that keeps them from fully understanding the way he’s hurting, their own anger at alex’s actions stinging in them.** ** ** ** **

**********two kinds of anger: the hot, red kind that sits scorching on your tongue and in your stomach, dry and hard and bitter, and the cold, blue kind, more broken, more weak, sitting in your heart and settling like a dull, sore ache, drawing tears that are more telling than whatever words you can muster in your pain.** ** ** ** **

**********john expects the hot kind from hercules, the fucking brick wall he is, and the colder kind from the emotional, excitable lafayette.** ** ** ** **

**********it’s always confused john, the way people disappear when you hurt them.** ** ** ** **

**********unlike what he’d thought of them, herc is the one he sees holding too many tears inside him too often. as he sobs, hercules is the one biting his lip, the one who looks away first when john shows them what he’s done to himself. it’s laf who is motionless, quiet, who sheds no tears when john does, who looks hurt in a way that can’t bring tears to pass.** ** ** ** **

**********he falls through the next days like he's on a slip and slide, like he's five again and martha keeps hitting his face with the nose nozzle and his mother is laughing in the grass with james on her hip and the water is warm as he skids on the plastic. the burn on his knee from hitting a dry patch is worth it.** ** ** ** **

**********laf and hercules fall in too, doing the things they normally do and trying to work through the knots alex has created. john tries to not think about it too hard, tries to drown himself in the early routine of everyday, wearing laf’s clothes, free from the social constraints of his cell phone. it's a little liberating, not being tied to everyone’s comments on what's happening. he sees the schuylers when they come to hang out, draped across the couches and laughing at laf and hercules and trying not to comment on the obvious absence of alex in the room. eliza hugs him a little longer than usual - his arms are more or less folded the whole time, and he hugs himself to forget the rapid, uneven beating inside his chest, fractured by fear that they'd see what was cracking unevenly inside him.** ** ** ** **

**********he leaves early, before anyone can try and ask him questions.** ** ** ** **

**********john drowns himself. he drowns himself in life, in work, in running. the dew on the grass in the park every morning is fresh, dripping down his ankles into his socks as he runs, runs, runs. lets the sun turn him inside out, sweat dampening his shirt, hair pulled up tight behind him, giving him a headache. runs until the way his breath feels spattered with metal in his throat is all he knows, until herc finally catches up and tells him to slow down, until he collapsed in the grass and groans for breath. his muscles spasm when he goes in for work, aching with his exhaustion, circles around central park beating against his battered ribcage. some workers putting in a new sprinkler in a taped-off square, teenagers ditching school, a middle aged woman smoking a cigarette and watching her small dogs chase each other in the grass.** ** ** ** **

**********he runs until the pain in his left wrist is drowned out by the ache in his legs, until he doesn't feel the ugliness throbbing beneath the ace bandages. he remembered confiscating similar ones from aaron years ago when he'd been trying to bind, not realizing what bandages could do to him. they’d found him a real one, and john had told alex that he thought helping people was like, “the coolest shit out there, you know?”** ** ** ** **

**********alex had told john to pursue it. that he should become a doctor, or something like that. and john had taken him up on it, because that was before he had known alex was in love with him, before he had come out to his dad.** ** ** ** **

**********the woman and her cigarette stare him down as he collapses over a trash can, aching for pause, and heaves until his stomach is empty. it's disgusting, it hurts, and he knows the other people in the park are trying their hardest not to stare. the thought of eating again makes him hurt - he has no appetite. he’s running is hard that his muscles seem to tighten and keep him from crying any more. good. he’s already cried too much. every time he cries, alex wins.** ** ** ** **

**********john is sick of alex winning him. winning his heart. winning his trust. he treats it like a cheap plastic medal they hand out to all the kids in a competition to keep them from feeling left out when they don't win the real prize. alex simply waited until he was out of sight to toss it in the trash can.** ** ** ** **

**********her eyes fix on the bandage around his wrist. there’s something simultaneously sympathetic and disgusted in her face.** ** ** ** **

**********laf is the only one who remembers he needs to change it. john’s been through med school - he knows how to treat a wound. but wrapped in other people's problems at the hospital, wrapped in pushing himself harder and harder at the park every morning, he sometimes forgets to refresh the bandages. he never looks when laf pulls the bandages off and gets new ones. he wants to rip them open, to rip himself open, to make himself hurt more.** ** ** ** **

**********laf’s eyes are sad and hurt for him.** ** ** ** **

**********he pours himself into work, into the problems of other people. the people that come into the clinic have obvious pain - usually, quite visible. it’s nice to see pain for once instead of letting it sit inside him and pretending like he can show it to others, explain it to others, and not be bit by its cold teeth.** ** ** ** **

**********three days after the last time he woke up in his bed with alex, four days since the last time they kissed, hercules and lafayette decide to take him out to lunch. a small cafe on the street three blocks away from them, they walk to it in the new york sun, and john only has to stop once to catch his breath.** ** ** ** **

**********sophomore coffees at the bar, eliza memorizing their favorites and never having to take their order, leaning on the bar and smiling at them. alex sitting at his side, fingers tangled in his own unruly hair, drinking a third coffee and looking cute. she leans on the bar again, looking at him curiously, waitress apron loose around her hips but tied tight around her back. sleepless circles under her eyes, short, colorless fingernails short and neat.** ** ** ** **

**********“your sandwich’s on the house today.”** ** ** ** **

**********he groans into one sweatshirt sleeve. “don’t do that, ‘liza. i can pay for my own damn sandwich.”** ** ** ** **

**********she gives him a** cut it out **face. “either you let me pay or i sit down and you have to talk about everything you’re bottling up inside that pretty freckled face of yours. you know i’m not budging on this.”**** ** ** **

**********ten minutes later, she brings him a philly steak and slides onto the plastic leather seat across from him, which sinks slightly under her. he spent a year in philly a while back, and the only thing that came out of it, truly, was his addiction to cheese steaks, as cliche as he knows it is. they’re just so** fucking **good that he can’t even---**** ** ** **

**********the cheese isn’t thick enough, but the meat is good, even while his stomach throbs with leftover pulses from when he’d gotten sick in the park that morning.** ** ** ** **

**********she watches him eat. eliza knows something about the way he sits there, the way he picks around the edges of his sandwich, the way he avoids looking at her directly. he wants a nap, desperately. “talk,” she tells him, and he shakes his head.** ** ** ** **

**********“talk.” a little firmer. her eyes understand too much, and he feels like he’s under scrutiny.** ** ** ** **

**********he takes a bite of his sandwich, and doesn’t look at her. “i thought i didn’t have to talk if i let you buy my sandwich.”** ** ** ** **

**********her fingers touch the back of his hand, looking at him like he’s a wounded puppy. “you know as well as i do that you need to talk about this, john. say something. anything. i don’t know if you’re angry, or hurt, or what, it just… get it off your chest. it’ll feel better.”** ** ** ** **

**********“i have nothing to say on the subject.”** ** ** ** **

**********“no one will blame you if you don’t forgive him,” she continues before he can protest further. “everyone understands. i understand. how you choose to approach him is up to you.”** ** ** ** **

**********hair short and cropped above her shoulders, her gaze that seems to go right through him. she’s sympathetic and understanding and god, john wishes she didn’t. he hates to imagine what she felt when alex did the same thing to her years ago.** ** ** ** **

**********how did he never learn? years, and alex was still making the same damn mistakes over and over and over again.** ** ** ** **

**********“i didn’t come here for a pep talk, i came for the sandwich,” john mumbles, hoping she’ll take the hint and give him space. he’s vulnerable when she looks at him - he knows she can see everything that he hates as it sits inside his head, lingering too long and waiting for a time to nip at his heels.** ** ** ** **

**********she doesn’t buy any of hit shit. “you can pretend like no one understands what you’re going through, but that isn’t going to make me stop trying to reach out to you.”** ** ** ** **

**********john spits the words quietly. “i’m. fine.”** ** ** ** **

**********“okay.” the cafe is more or less empty, meaning there’s no tables for her to bus, not when the other waitress is moving along quietly and working at a meager pace. eliza’s words slow down, not pushing any more, waiting for something. waiting for him to make the first reach.** ** ** ** **

**********so he sits. eats a few more bites. if alex were here, he’d be reaching over, taking sips of john’s drink, bites of his sandwich, holding his hand, just generally being in his space. eliza would be rolling her eyes at the way they were always touching, at the way john slung his arm around alex, reassuring him that he still had his full attention, enough to get alex to rest his face into john’s shoulder and quiet down, pressed against him.** ** ** ** **

**********he breathes quietly into his hand, no longer hungry, even though his sandwich is only half finished. “what the hell am i supposed to say? you saw everything he said. discretion isn't exactly his thing.”** ** ** ** **

**********sighs into the open air, head aching. “i just. don't. want to talk about it.”** ** ** ** **

**********eliza dismisses him with a simple wave of her hand, like it’s that easy. “yeah, i know you don’t. but you need to. talk to me.”** ** ** ** **

**********it hits him out of nowhere in the way her eyes fix on him, the way she doesn’t even understand him like she pretends to. “this isn’t like what he did to you. when he cheated on you, you left him, got over him. he told you before he blabbed to everyone else about it. you’re a good person and you knew how to let go of him without wanting to kiss him or kill him, and now you’re married to his ex.”** ** ** ** **

**********she fiddles with her wedding ring when he mentions it, and john sees her and maria on their wedding day, a relationship built on resewn broken hearts that understood every part of each other. they learned how to take alex’s messes and create their own masterpiece. it’s not like he can just do that the way eliza did. he doesn’t want that - he wants to bleed, to tear himself open again, to let someone else do the ripping for him so he doesn’t have to deal with the guilt.** ** ** ** **

**********“i chose to forgive him. that’s all that happened.”** ** ** ** **

**********her voice is quiet, and she looks sympathetic.** ** ** ** **

**********“like i said, you don’t have to make that choice too. it’s up to you. if you want to cut his love out of your life, no one will stop you. and perhaps that’s what you need to do. but... it’s not always for the best. bitterness will get you nowhere.” her voice catches in her throat a little. “angelica told me she’s never seen him sadder.”** ** ** ** **

**********john doesn’t care. that’s what he tells himself, trying a french fry from the plate. it’s too salty, like his tears, like his wounds.** ** ** ** **

**********he sighs again. “i’m not going to just forget all that. i’m sick of him fucking me over. he fucked you over. and he’s going to keep doing it, obviously. you read the email. god, what is must be like inside his head.”** ** ** ** **

**********she takes his hand, and he feels something pound in his head. “i don’t know if it helps, but he’s heartbroken. angelica…” she swallows lightly. “she heard him sobbing and screaming at himself in your apartment the other night. he’s sleeping with jefferson.”** ** ** ** **

********what? **“sleeping with jefferson? that--”**** ** ** **

**********hurriedly, head snapping back and forth, she realizes her error. “no, no, he’s sleeping in jefferson’s apartment. he’s in too much pain to stay in your place. and you also need to understand that this isn’t your fault, because i know you feel like it is-”** ** ** ** **

**********“no, i don’t-”** ** ** ** **

**********“yes, you do. i’m... i don’t know how to tell you how my heart hurts for you, john, but it isn’t your fault, and he’s hurting too. he misses you. if you forgive him, it’s possible you can rebuild what you’ve lost, i’ve seen it before, forgiveness can heal-”** ** ** ** **

**********they are interrupting each other in an endless cycle, words spilling over each other, hurting together. john remembers seeing footage of a town after a hurricane, annihilated, everything ripped apart and scattered with a scarily calm peace. he feels a bit like those photos.** ** ** ** **

**********they inspired horror and desperation to help then. now, they inspire disgust with himself.** ** ** ** **

**********“no, eliza, i don’t care about him. i don’t want forgiveness. i want… thank you for the sandwich.” his voice slows a little. she gives him a hug and he feels warm again, if just for a second. “thank you.” he’s repeating himself, a broken record, their emotions distilled and confused and swirling around messily. “i’ll think about what you’ve said.”** ** ** ** **

**********she touches the bandages on his arm, and her eyes are pained. “okay. okay. okay, john, i believe you. i trust you. don’t do anything stupid to yourself, okay? you deserve to get through this. you will. you’re some tough shit.”** ** ** ** **

**********he laughs, but it’s lost in her hair. “thank you.” what does it even mean any more?** ** ** ** **

**********when he leaves, her eyes follow him out the door. the battlefield, the hurricane ravaged battlefield, is filled with casualties, and smells like death. he needs to bleed more, but he’s sick of doing it to himself. his fingers are dialing before he can control himself.** ** ** ** **

**********hercules recommends him a bar, telling him to text him before he brings someone home.** ** ** ** **

**********john elbows his way in when the sun goes down, music already hurting his head. there’s too many people, most of them dancing, almost all of them trembling with the music. many of the dudes are coupled up already, and john’s eyes are searching, hurting, looking for someone to match what he needs.** ** ** ** **

**********how many times did alex do this to him while john sat at home, waiting for him to get home, playing skyrim and ignoring chem homework?** ** ** ** **

**********sweat - it’s what he smells first, over the perfume, over the music, over the fake smoke drifting on the bad air conditioning.** ** ** ** **

**********the man he picks is blonde, tall, has blue eyes. everything alex isn’t. his eyes are seared with burning lust. john wonders if he’ll be rough enough for what he needs. as they dance, john tries to drown himself in the alcohol and the sweat and the way this guy wears the good kind of cologne, the way he doesn’t smell like peppermint and coffee and lack of sleep and excitement and god he loves alex and no, this isn’t alex, this is what freedom feels like.** ** ** ** **

**********he hopes he won’t be able to taste the tears on his lips when they kiss.** ** ** ** **


	4. alex and john

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a slightly more graphic depiction of John's self harm tendencies and Alex being excessively stupid.

_**iii**_.

the blood.

it’s not apparent at first. a drop on the carpet. a tiny stain on the inside of his left sleeve where john threw his shirt at their bed, sheets still messy, ruffled with their slow kissing and rolling over each other, soft mixes of laughs and groans against each other’s neck. alex’s right sock stuck somewhere in the bottom of the sheets, john’s hair tie under the pillow, creases just their sizes making the whole bed look like him, like them, like early morning love making and john’s giggles and the stain on his pillow from the time alex spilled coffee in bed.

hands in his hair, _no no no_ , what has john done to himself? blood dripping down his fingers, a sharp cry lost in his throat, john’s fingers stained a little crimson. he thought it wasn't possible to find an emotion sadder than learning of how john suffered with himself, than seeing him in the hospital broken over the fact that he was still alive and had a beating heart. 

alex has always strived to be a safe place for john, a refuge in the storm. knowing he is one of the handful of things that brings all that anxiety crashing down upon him definitely qualifies as a sadder feeling.

the bathroom lights are bright, alex’s eyes in adjusting. john is in the shower, kissing him, laughing, hair damp and hanging in his face. a gentle embraced fingers soft on his skin, not looking for anything - a kinder touch, one that is familiar and warm and like home. 

john really is all around him, but in a more violent way, a way that clashes with his head and his heart and his stomach is turning, turning, turning. he's never been very good with blood. he must have tried to clean it up, but been too hasty and dazed and hurt to not half ass it. spots on the tile, in the bottom of the bathtub, staining his fingertips, the one habit that had clung to john through his cringed high school years.

john’s scars spilling all over, the pain alex had brought upon him bleeding through everything he can see. 

john’s gripping his arm as he sits in the bathtub, gritting his teeth at the pain at the slide of the knife. blood beads and slips down his forearm. 

crumpling to his knees, afraid, regretful, ashamed. he sees the skin healed over john, cracking and peeling with alex’s betrayal. every ounce of trust he had gained, slipping down the drain. alex hates himself for it. some of john’s blood has stained alex’s fingertips.

john’s own fingers shake, steam from the hot water filling his lungs, feeling like alex is sitting there right across from him. naked, hair slick with the hot water, their knees brushing, reaching out now and then to stroke john’s cheek. watching with torn eyes as john whimpers in pain. 

he is not writing love letters to death. there is nothing poetic or sadly romantic about the way he bleeds. it sickens him to see the way people discuss his habit like it’s something bittersweet, something beautiful. it is ugly and painful and riddled with so much chill that he shivers as he breaks.

alex has never gotten dressed so fast, knees shaking, pulling off his work suit to reach for some clothes - anything, anything, just something so that he can properly run to laf’s house and look for john. the anxieties of losing john overwhelm him, ones he hasn't felt in years. john’s body lying before him, motionless, cold to the touch. alex watching their future together slip away with the last bits of john still clinging to their world. he wouldn’t do it, would he? alex tries to imagine waking up to another face, kissing another’s lips, speaking another name as tenderly as he had john’s. it was so easy to do it before, when john had trusted him - why was it so hard to do it now?

john feels alex there, pulling him into his arms, stroking his hair. this was an alex who wanted him, whose eye hadn't been turned, who needed john just as much as john needed him. this was an alex who hadn't broken his heart. but eventually he fades too.

alex doesn't deserve john. throwing his clothes on their bed, guilt wanting to shut him down. his head pounds with everything he’s lost. the living room is silent. quiet. everything feels like it usually does, hardly anything out of place, their _home_. a domestic portrait of their life together, only the loudest, violent things a painful contrast against the canvas. john’s phone on the couch, keys on the table. the spot of blood near his converse toe, staining the carpet, and alex has never been good with blood. it makes him feel sick.

he leaves everything exactly as it is. 

when john leaves the apartment, anxious to get away from alex stained across everything, his arm hurts, his fingers are trembling, and a tiny trickle of red drips off his middle finger into the carpet without him noticing.

_alex and john both thought the other was the most beautiful thing they'd ever seen in their life._

_lying in bed, the afterglow still fading, john’s hands sweaty and alex’s hair wild and staticky._

_john turned on some classical music - piano, something soft and gentle and with a string accompaniment - drowned out any self conscious thoughts from their first time, disappear beyond the sound of the opening arpeggios. the ceiling was covered in cheap plastic stars painted glow in the dark, lighting up alex’s bedroom as he pulled john closer and stared at the stars in their quiet, five dollar glory._

_laf and hercules were playing_ grand theft auto _, screams of frustration louder than the soft moan tugged from alex as john kissed the soft spot under his ear a little._

_it took a moment for john to notice the way alex was looking at him, but he fell into that gaze and got stuck in the softness in it, in the gentle beauty of the way he reached out and stroked john’s cheek. they kissed so quietly, half exhausted half relaxed, that john felt his breath catch in his throat._

_alex thought about nothing but john, letting the feelings turn him soft and inside out and slow him down. he slowed down for the first time in a while, breathless at how beautiful john looked with the sheets tangled in his legs, the way he smiled like an actual freaking ray of sunshine._

_john sat up slightly, his hands moving to wipe tears from alex’s cheeks. “you're crying. oh, god, was it really that bad, do you regret---”_

_when his voice comes out, it feels too fragile and emotional to sound cool. “no, no, ‘m not upset. it’s just…” after john had pointed out that he was crying, alex fully realized that he was, just a little, couldn't pinpoint why. “you’re just so fucking cute, all of you, your face, your stomach, your arms, I just…”_

_john froze, mulling over the sentence in his head. “what?” a moment’s consideration had him dissolving in laughter._

_alex’s fingers in his hair, rolling over on top of him, kissing without breath. john’s laughter against alex’s smile, “that's the lamest thing you've ever said.”_

_“what?” alex laughed when john kissed him, their hands everywhere. “you’re not a fan of my hopeless romantics?”_

_john pulled the sheets of alex’s bed up over his midsection in between kisses, trying to stifle a gentle ebb of self consciousness. “of all the things that are tear worthy, i wouldn't add my face to that list,” john replied, relaxing a little as a laugh faded._

_a thought he had pushed away rolled back into the front of his consciousness. didn’t know how to say what he was thinking, the plague of angelica’s words sitting hot and heavy in his mind. and so he rolled over onto his back and let their arms fall away from their sides. “angelica says you cheated on eliza.”_

_angelica had drawn him aside after she saw the way they were holding hands walking down the street, john blushing and never meeting his eyes, alex grinning like he’d just won a nobel prize. she knew all too well that the way they acted around each other was too intimate for friendship, the way they intertwined themselves together - overlapping their legs lying on the couch, slinging their arms around each other, touching, touching, always touching, always, always, always._

_alex’s mind filling with a sudden infuriating panic, afraid, fighting the realization that john knew now. “um, i…”_

_"you did, didn’t you?” he looks at alex until his eyes hurt a little, looks into those impossibly brown eyes, touches his hair. “alex, you know how much i really, really, like, freaking really, want to be with you. but i don’t know if i can…” his voice was cracking all over the place. alex had seen him have bad days before, to the point where he didn’t really know how else to explain to alex what he meant. how else to tell him that he was too fragile to be hurt._

_he had hoped john wouldn’t find out. not because he was doing anything similar now, but more because he didn’t want to explain, to see the way john’s eyes faded with a sort of fear he can’t dismiss, as much as he’d have liked to. eliza had forgiven him - if he made the same mistake with john, would he?_

_the stars glowing on the ceiling were almost as precious as every blemish on john’s skin. god, was there anywhere he didn’t have freckles? alex gave him a soft poke in the stomach, nestled himself against him, sighed quietly. “i’m never going to do that to you, j. i’ve learned from that. anyone who’s stupid enough to hurt you doesn’t deserve you in the first place.”_

_john sucked in a breath, the softest, most gentle kiss they’d ever shared. “promise?”_

_alex kept kissing him, not responding for a second. john hooked his pinky through alex’s and pulled away to look him in the eyes again, clearer this time. “promise me.”_

_the second their fingers intertwined, alex knew just how serious this was to him. john didn’t pull the pinky promise move unless he was really serious. “of course.”_

_“say it.” john pulled him forward and kissed him, tangling his fingers in his hair, their pinkies still twisted together in the promise alex was committing himself to. “no, i want to hear you say it. it’s not a promise if you don’t actually promise it.” was he being too forward? would alex hate him for it?_

_alex’s eyes were a special kind of soft john had never understood, like he was a sheet fresh out of the dryer, a cloud drifting across john’s dismal gray skies, a soft kiss on his cheek._

_"i promise.”_

_alex held him through the bad nights. there were many. they were often. john called it his weekly breakdown, although sometimes it was bidaily. there were some weeks where it felt like john was never okay, in a constant of stuck in some dark abysmal corner of his mind where no one could reach him. but he still held him._

_he held him and he held him and he held him._

_he held him when his skin was stained with other women, when john sat in the kitchen up late doing homework and texted him a few times asking why he was so late getting home. as alex worked himself deeper and deeper into the pit stitched into the part of his heart similar to john’s corner, the part that held his fear and his anxiety and his lust for the women he visited, the women who weren’t john, and even though it hurt every time he came home and saw john and knew that he wished it was those girls._

_but he held him, he held him and held him and held him. the lines on his skin slowly faded into memories of a darker time, john started running to work off the extra weight he’d gained over the years and stopped resorting to other methods of release, the smile slowly etched its way back onto his face. no one except for alex and hercules and lafayette knew about what john had used to do, and now it didn’t matter, because he wasn’t doing it any more. he had found a way out._

_so had alex._

_her legs slipped from around his waist, breathing heavily in the night air. alex was too drunk to form a full sentence, looking at the girl as she straightened out her skirt, shoulders painted with bruises he’d left there. “you know, we should go out some time.”_

_her hair an endless tumble of blonde curls, tight, like john’s hair, thumbing through a few messages on her phone, messed up lipstick and a tiny smile._

_alex was slurring, trying to remember why they couldn’t do that. alcohol muddied his thoughts. “no, no, i’m sorry, i have a boyfriend, i can’t…”_

_even though she was drunk too, her face was clearer than his, filing into disgust instead of the rushed gasp overwhelming her a few moments ago. “oh. fuck. does he know you’re here?”_

_he probably shook his head, confused, trying to make his way through the thoughts running through his mind at an inimitable speed, the girl leaning on the wall. new york lights loud and bright in his eyes, a pounding headache, john’s eyes -_

_her frown curled even more in her disgust, seeing alex in his true colors, she was gone before he could even ask to see her again._

_alex had had bad nights too, nights where not even john’s promises to never leave seemed to reach the part of him that understood. so why in hell was he doing this? freely giving up the attachment john had sworn to him? he had no idea. he thought maybe knowing would be even worse than thinking he didn't._

_john was sitting with his elbows on his knees when alex walked into their apartment with his keys jangling around his neck, grumbling in frustration at the tv while he worked his way through_ dark souls iii _. he laid down with his head in john’s lap, listening to him talk, feeling the girl’s fingers on his skin, feeling his stomach churn, feeling and feeling and feeling and john played with his hair during the cutscenes and blamed alex’s gentle crying on the alcohol so obvious on his breath._

_john looked at peggy as they waved the papers in his face, a bunch of alex’s familiar cursive detailed to the smallest flick of his pen._

_he asked where they’d gotten it, and got no answer._

_instead, a mischievous grin, the crinkled edges shoved against his nose. alex wrote every night, fingers cramping by the time he finished, john would take his hands and hold them until he was satisfied. peggy had been going through his journal? he decided it was best not to ask, taking the book from them before they could shove it down his throat. leather bound, filled with smeared fountain pen ink._

John and John and John and John. 

_he sees himself all over the pages, in too many words, in just the right amount, in a beautiful messy drawl of words that were him everywhere and alex was a lovesick fool, wasn't he?_

_john would be lying if he said it didn't warm his heart all the way down to his toes._

_alex poured across the pages, writing until his fingers hurt, writing until he had put john down on them in every word possible. writing about a life, a future, with him, only his name capitalized among a million lowercase letters. a future together, spoke of marrying_ John, _adopting kids with_ John, _spoke of promises and kissed and stupid jokes and john keeping him sane._

_such an invasion of his privacy, alex would flip if he knew - but john read until the smile on his face was invincible, until he couldn't hear anything but the words alex wrote about him, until he felt their heads pressed together and their smiles pressed together and their hands tangled together._

_children with alex’s eyes holding his hand - he imagines._

_when alex comes home from work, john kisses him long and slow until his fingers find their way into his hair and his heart and he can't stop grinning like an idiot._

**alex and john walk.**

**they don't walk together, but they walk. alex walks to work with his hands shoved so deep in his pockets that they don't feel the sting of the cold. empty spaces john should feel, holes he dug with his own words, trying to work up the courage to go to him and ask and try. all of john’s stuff sits in their empty apartment, stuff he was all too eager to leave behind.**

**john walks home from eliza’s cafe with her warm scent clinging to him. eliza is such a good friend, understanding - once she'd gotten through his first layer of shock and listened to him, let him talk his way through his emotions, he kept going back to see her again, to treat him as a friend, to not coddle him.**

**alex works a week in silence. spends nights feeling guilty when he laughs at the shitty sitcoms jefferson and madison enjoy. ignores a key, the letters** a h j l **decorating it, clinking in his pocket against loose change. laf and hercules both go to check on him and make sure he's okay - apparently, they do care about him, even if it's tainted with their anger. laf says he's only doing it for john. hercules tells him, more honestly, all of them miss him and just aren't sure how to face him again.**

**john is fine. when people ask, that's what he spits back, what accompanies his meaningless nods and quiet laughs as he drowns in another bottle. the alcohol feels like a kiss, his throat burns a little, no amount will ever make it go down easier. he’s walking up the stairs, used to take them two at a time, now trudges up like he’s got a weight sitting on his back.**

**muscle memory has him reaching into his pocket before he even reaches the door. a curse falls from his lips, digging his fingers deeper, looking for a lanyard that used to be strung around his neck constantly, and remembers throwing it, so hard and fast and bristling with his anger, he wanted to crack every smooth surface in their apartment, make alex watch the glass break under his fingertips -**

**except he doesn’t, not really. he relates to glass too much, to the way he wants to make fractures in it, the way he has made fractures in himself, and he can't get into this stupid apartment, and…**

**he doesn't want to see alex hurt at all. the thought makes him feel moderately sick, even if he wishes it didn't.**

**john sits down against the door and takes a deep breath.**

**alex emerges from the depths of the spare bedroom, rubbing his eyes, pretending like they aren't red-ringed. the last thing he needs right now is jefferson up in his face asking if he's crying. hasn't been, of course, he's above that, he's okay, he’s--**

**“john’s at your door.” so casually the ceramic mug nearly slips between his fingers, jefferson and madison holding hands across the table, alex’s eyes flitting back and forth with guilt. his narrative is confused and clouded, muddied with sleep. he got home late from work and slept in late and what time is it?**

**the space usually taken up by his incessant chattering is filled with slow breaths. it’s unusual for alex to be so quiet, to be so slow. the words break through his buffer painstakingly - “you’re lying.”**

**does james seem like the kind of guy who'd lie just to fuck with you?” jefferson’s voice is so salty that he has to take another sip of coffee to swallow it.**

**“got home from the grocery ten minutes ago, and he was sitting out there. told me he couldn't get in.” grocery bags sitting on the counter, plastic manipulated by the air conditioning vent just above it, proof. part of alex is always looking for proof, the lawyer part, the part that needs to pick and decide and debunk everything. “i gave him your keys.”**

**“you gave him my keys?!”**

**john’s closer than he's been the whole week, ever since he was sprawled out on their bed, hair falling across his chest, dreaming. a broken mosaic, the glass shattered across the carpet, he feels it in the soles of his feet when he walks to the door and lets his fingers linger.**

**whatever jefferson and madison are saying, it doesn't reach him, it doesn't reach the way he stumbles into the hallway in ratty sweatpants from hours of restless sleep and with his hair in a half-assembled ponytail.**

**eyes fixed on the wall, sweatshirt sleeves hiding his fingertips, john stares until his eyes burn. he hears the door open behind him - he doesn't want to look at alex, because he knows it's him, he knows exactly what he'll try to say, exactly how much he wishes he could just say** no, alex, get out of my life and don't come back, **especially because he knows he can't.**

**the wall, covered with pictures, dripping with christmas lights and a gentle glow. alex realizes john must've turned them on. probably the first light the apartment has seen all week.**

**pictures plastered over every square inch, photographs of alex and john back when they were always together, always slung across each other, inseparable to the point people only ever said alexandjohn. sometimes johnandalex, but always strung together, their names twined together like their fingers.**

**alex loved photography. he’d taken most of those photos. candid shots, posed photos, landscapes, intermingled with john’s drawings of the same scenes over and over again. a pretty sunset from a vacation two years ago. a portrait of alexandjohn with their arms around each other, kissing in front of the hollywood sign like they were straight out of a movie.**

**alex and john stare at the wall together, not looking at each other, not touching, not feeling.**

**words alex has bit through bloodily all week come spilling out, still not facing john.**

**“i’m so sorry, god, i’m so sorry and i know i can never make up for this and i’ve hurt you beyond repair and that i don't deserve you and that you're hurting. look at me, say something, please, talk to me, yell at me, tell me you hate me, tell me how upset you are, please, just say something. i’m so angry at myself for hurting you but i love you and i’m sorry and i** miss **you.”**

**john turns. his eyes are cold and pained. he looks at alex in front of him and sees the eyes of a man he trusted, a man he loved, a… he wishes he felt nothing about it. he wishes he could shut his emotions all down.**

**alex is reaching for him, shaking, a million words spilling out of his mouth. john just stares. it isn't until their eyes meet that alex sees just how pained, just how hurt he is - not angry like john’s pretending to be, just hurt.**

**“please, sweetheart, i’m sorry, we can fix this. i’ve done so many things wrong and hurt you like you never deserved to be hurt, but i want to be with you again. i want to make up for what i’ve done, because you're the best thing in my life and i’d be crazy not to try and get back what i’ve lost--”**

**he knows the words don't belong. john deserves better. john deserves to be with people who don't treat him like his, but he can't bear to lose john again and god, he's being selfish, but he can't let john go.**

**john’s fingers move upwards, swallowing a lump of pain, never moving his eyes off Alex’s - no, alex’s - face. fingers curling, something sharp poking into the palm of his hand, heat, warmth, tears poking at the corners of his eyes, every part of him beginning to build with the heated pain that floods his system and prods at him and those goddamn eyes and john rips the christmas lights off the wall and lets them pool around his feet, plunging the room into varying shades of darkness.**

**alex sees john's outline, pigmented in shades of black and gray, eyes constantly watering just on the edge of spilling over but never fully reaching it. the plug, ripped out when john yanked the lights off the wall, is next to his feet - a skeleton lying lifelessly next to the top of john’s sneaker, the bones made of wire and the joints made of tiny lights that don't sparkle any more.**

**the second the lights go out, alex is silent. john stares and stares and stares and stares.**

**they look at each other, john’s face void of emotion. void of anger. void of expression. void of pain. void of joy. just empty. he wants to throw himself into alex’s arms for the split second before his skin remembers alex’s unfaithfulness, a split second before he remembers the lines snaking up his arms.**

**“john, you scratched the paint, the landlord…” the spot where the wires of the christmas lights was hooked into to the wall, which would already have been considered some kind of offense in itself, has a tiny nick in the paint. it’s just viewable through the translucent curtains that are the only light source, and alex shuts his mouth off, seeing the way john tenses when alex says his name.**

**his reply is hoarse. scratches against alex’s ears, hopefully. “what do you want me to say?”**

anything.

**alex doesn't respond at first.**

**john looks him straight in the eye and says quietly, “it hurts to look at you, you know that? it’s hard to look at you like this.** god. **that's why, the lights, i... it’s painful.”**

**the carpet under his feet is soft. the couch they bought together two years ago provides something for him to lean against, something to stifle his shaking fingers.**

**john walks away from him, unable to look at his face, unable to see him without the stains of lipstick smeared against his cheeks, unable to see him without seeing those endless bags under his eyes. how much caffeine has he drank this week?**

**he sits down against the wall, silent, eyes glazed endlessly. alex has no idea how to express all the apologies he wants to give, so he sinks to his knees next to john and looks at the threads poking out, frayed and tired and trying to escape.**

**pen scribbles are all over alex’s hands, and john bites his lip. he used to do that to those worn, tired, overworked hands himself. alex wrote too much, moved too much, worked too hard, and john was happy to take over and provide alex’s hands some rest. alex would never protest when john drew on him.**

**so many things to say, words he doesn't know how to say, spilling spilling spilling, a break in his throat. they paint like a tragedy, sitting in blackened, comfortable silence; neither knowing how to break it.**

**john mumbles, “i hate you.”**

**john’s face in his knees, not crying or hiding, just not looking at him.**

**"that's more than i deserve.”**

**more comfortable, tangible silence,slipping back into silence, tired eyes watching the darkness keep them safe. alex hasn’t felt this comfortable in months, or this disconnected from john in years. the darkness hides the way his eyes are pricked with tears, the darkness hides the way he wants to reach for him but is too hesitant.**

**he knows john will not reach back.**

**it takes john less than a second to realize alex is crying. to realize the soft sounds of someone trying to hide their sniffles is coming from alex, face in his hands, his toes curled against the carpet. a suppressed sob breaking in his throat.**

**john doesn't reach out for him. he's done too much crying on his own, alex knows - this week, for years, when alex was out sleeping around and john was home alone, when his father told him he would never be happy with a man and to give up “the act,” and alex is sure john feels like alex has only proved that idea, that his hurt has only instigated john’s loathing further and further and further --**

**john edges the curtains open a little, looking at all the wrongness in alex. usually john was the one who breaks down, alex the one who holds him.**

**now, alex is crying, and john sits there and watches him so blankly that he seems half dead. he rubs his forearm and watches alex and tries to feel something, anything, just not pain.**

**and then it slams into alex again, the fear and the worry and the realization that john is hurt, his john, john,** john. 

**“you're hurt, aren't you? please, tell me you're okay, no, no, no.” his face is creased with fear. “john, i saw the blood, i need to see you're okay, that you're not--”**

**when he reaches for john’s arm, he's not surprised to feel john yank away. moves his hands away and his eyes away and his body away.**

**this silence john is emitting is even more painful than the violent retribution alex knows he's holding back.**

**voice gravelly, grating in his throat, shaking away from him. “don't touch me, alexander. i don't want you to see.”**

no, don't call me that, it means you're away from me, you're too far for me to reach, and it's not okay, i need you, i need you,

i need You.

**to let go, to let John find healing with himself, to get better. to give john his best shot. distance him from the poisonous epidemic of alex hamilton.**

**he still sees nothing but john's** alexander **still sitting there heavy, the way it only does when they fight. or… whatever they're doing right now. there's no fighting, no yelling, sitting on the edge with their feet dangling over an abyss, sharp rocks at the bottom. in a way, it eats at the both of them more, it eats at them until alex’s fingers feel raw.**

**john looks at his sleeves, contemplation dripping through the puncture wounds as if through an iv, leaving him convoluted and muddled and drifting in his thoughts.**

**“god, it's just… it’s just bad. i don't want you to look at it.” he gets up. paces into the kitchen. melody familiar, the way he reaches into cupboards and finds mugs and makes tea. rhythmic, almost.**

**alex doesn't move. follows john with his eyes, waiting, biting his lip, whatever it takes to shut himself up.**

**john sits down with mugs and looks at him and sighs slightly. “what the heck are we going to do?” light peering through the window, noon trying to enter their conversation, their fixed world slows down to a speed the fast-paced heart of new york would despise.**

**john feels differently now looking into his eyes, can never tell those eyes that he hates him like he did a few minutes ago.**

**the lost look on alex’s face as he slumps forward. “you're the one who always knows. i don't know how to fix this, john, i don't know how to make it better, and i’m worried about you and i’m so worried that you're hurt and i can't stop seeing your blood all over the bathroom and i just wanted to see you and i don't deserve your forgiveness.”**

no. you don't.

**“how to fix this,” john repeats, alex’s words leaving him the moment he spoke them. how had they been so different the last time they were together? how had things not always felt this tense, yet so relaxed, like every nerve in his body was screaming and silent all at once?**

**he laughs. alex’s heart breaks into jagged halves.**

**“how to** fix **this? like i’m a bent handlebar on your bike or a loose screw or a mess that needs cleaning up? yeah, okay.” the tea tastes bitter, or is that the crippling blame sitting on his tongue?**

**“no, you know how i meant it, i want this to heal, to get better. i know i shouldn't. angelica’s been in my face about just letting you go, and i… i can't lose you, you mean too much to me, too much, i love you---”**

**john’s hands are shaking as he gets up from the ground. his paces slow and inconsistent. it hurts to look at alex again so he doesn't, so he holds his mug in his hands and lets heat seep into his palms and paces and paces.**

**“shut up,” he whispers quietly, ignoring the wag words keep spilling out and out and out of alex’s mouth.**

**alex rambles, words carrying with his tone. grits his teeth against them as they spill out his mouth. “no, just listen to me, just listen, i want to apologize, john, please,** cariño **, just listen to me.”**

**frozen.**

**john’s hands shake, slipping,** clash **. tea paints the linoleum, john paints a sunset with a smile larger than the sky. alex’s face is one of his paintings but water has spilled across it, tear stains on his cheeks.**

**he supposes he and mulligan have something in common, because when he starts talking, his anger is laced with tears as they streak down his tired face and paint his lips with salt.**

**“no. no.** you **listen to me. our whole relationship has been me listening to you and listening and giving and look where that got us. you don't get to call me your-that-” his voice breaks horridly, anger dripping in his tears, slamming his fist down on the table. alex’s teeth press into his lips harder, biting back words that will only make this worse. “you can't expect me to give you that part of me when, i…”**

**john sighs, looking at the ground. tears drip off his eyelashes. a broken confession. “i went to a club, you know? i wanted to find someone to go home with. i needed to get my mind off you. and i couldn’t do it. i just… couldn’t do it. because i’m not like you. he was cute, and he wanted me, but i couldn’t do it. all i could think of was you, because you were enough for me, you were all i wanted. but not to you.”**

**the tea tastes scalding in alex’s throat like even it hates him.**

**john, pacing again, laces tied three times instead of two like normal. wearing shoes in their apartment.**

**“i wasn't enough.” a realization cuts clean the open air, john looking over at him and - alex sees** guilt **in his eyes.**

 **“i wasn't enough,” repeating, stepping to the door and stepping back again, like he's trying to run but doesn't know how. “i’m so stupid, ‘lex, to think that, that i could've been enough for you,** i’m sorry.”

**wait - john apologizing to him?**

**tears spilling down john’s cheeks, inescapable, unavoidable, bitter and quiet. they taste like years and years of disappointment, and john stops pacing. words spill too, rambling the way alex usually does, at some sort of midway point between everything becoming clear and everything shutting down.**

**“i’m not enough, i’ve never been enough, how could i ever think i’d be enough for someone like you? because i loved you alex, of course i did, you were everything to me, and i was never enough. it’s my fault for being such a major disappointment. all my life, you know, never being good at fucking anything. john, the poor gay kid who can’t keep his head screwed on right,” and he’s talking to himself now, “a disappointment to dad and a disappointment to you and a disappointment to me. covered in scars and getting upset over nothing and not even being able to sit still or lay down or feel comfortable and i want to get out, alex, i want to get out of this.”**

**stands so slowly that he has time to watch the dust drifting in the sliver of light from outside. john’s facing the other way. “want to get out of what?”**

**“i don’t know,” a broken whisper, shakily staring at the ground, anger trembling in his bones again. “you cheated on me. did you finally start seeing who i really am? i don’t blame you.” bitter laugh. “sad, angry, destructive, selfish, a failure, too wrapped up in whatever this is that’s going on in my head, spaced out, a bad friend, i can’t cook, i can barely clean, i can’t even take care of myself, i’m so expensive and stupid and i wasn’t enough and i hate you and i hate me and -” is there an opposite of hyperventilating?**

**alex worries, listens to john’s ranting, breathing like he’s got no air in his lungs, but it’s not fast and hurried like hyperventilating, just kinda raspy and heavy and choking. “and i wasn't enough, i wasn't enough, i wasn't enough, i was never fucking enough for anyone, not even you.”**

**alex reaches out to touch john - he's frozen. very careful, a movement so slow that he doesn't pull away.**

**john bites his lip. stars spot the darkness of the apartment, dizzy, head spinning and reeling and trying to remember how to stop pinching behind his temple. the low gasp that alex breathes out is too quiet but it makes his head pang again. he's familiar with the landscape of where alex has pushed up his sleeves, because he always takes what he wants, and john is tired of trying to defend himself.**

**tracing raised lines, fingers shaking, trying to look at him - john’s eyes are glazed over and he’s still doing that weird breathing thing. sunshine, a field littered with sunflowers and the sticky sweet quiet heat of spring in his pulse, suddenly dripping into darkness. ink staining flower petals. a war.**

**war is not the lovely, tragic thing people think it is. people in history classes discuss age-old men with battered clothes and famous last words spattered with blood and united with honor. banners fading in the july heat, colors bleeding into the years, of the words** freedom **and** loyalty **and** home **ringing like gunshots in the ears of heroes.**

**war is trampled sunflowers under horses, under bodies, under death. war is the sheen of black that turns john’s hazel eyes into something colorless and empty, leaving people hungry, unfulfilled, aching to remember worth.**

**war is an endless void, and alex can’t do anything but watch as it claims john in some dimension he can’t reach, and god, he feels so helpless.**

**so familiar, home. a thumb running across his cheek soothingly. alex’s eyes warm, pained, but warm, wanting to help. another hand ghosting across his left wrist, like he’s hoping john hasn’t ripped the pulse out of his arm like everything else. there’s a scar on his fourth knuckle from when he broke his hand years ago punching a wall - he wonders if he can tear away from alex long enough to do it again.**

**he wants, needs to write, to convince john of everything warm and gentle and good hiding in his soul. alex knows john can’t see it often, and a cold fist of pain wraps around the part of him which** belongs to john **and no other and** how could i have been so stupid?

**“i told you it was bad.”**

**when alex wraps his arms around john, john is just too tired to push him away. screaming at himself, feeling his skin burn where alex touched him, feeling all the women who had replaced him, feeling the way he wasn’t enough.**

**but john’s been crying for way too long to resist the innocent temptation lying in a warm hug.**

**how long they stand there, alex sobbing into john’s chest, gripped with fear. keeps tripping over that image of john leaving him forever, john dying, john’s empty space tearing into him, the stitching unravelling at the edges. he just can’t lose, that, he can’t, he can’t…**

**alex wants john to scream at him. their words to slice each other, their fists flying, their eyes flashing with anger. so much easier, so much more controllable.**

**no, he corrects himself. John is wrapped in his arms and John’s remembering how to breathe and John comes first. John. John. John.**

**the radiator hums in corner of the living room. alex’s tears have made a tiny damp spot on his sweatshirt. john can feel the christmas lights still tangled in distorted circles around their feet. alex smells like vanilla coffee. he slowly - tentatively, not sure if it’s right - kisses the soft between his eyebrow and his hairline.**

**the keys madison gave him jangle against some loose change in his jean pockets. john pulls it out as he pulls away from alex’s hug and shrugs off his hand.**

**silver glinting in the midday sun. hand reaching for his, but no, not now. john hasn’t forgiven him, doesn’t want any more of that touch burning finger-shaped imprints into his skin that he’ll probably end up trying to scrub off later.**

a h j l.

**john breathes and doesn’t feel ice in his trachea this time.**

**“don’t touch me, alex, i…”**

**“i’m sorry, John.”**

**“i know.” john sinks to his knees slowly, four letters shining on a silver key in his palm. the carpet is soft - remembers lying on this carpet, alex on top of him, laughing, trying to make out, really just laughing until their sides ached.**

**“what do you want?”**

**alex is on his knees, too, dark eyes full of concern. they don’t touch.**

**“i don’t know. i’m angry, i’m real fucking angry, alex, but i… i’ve beat myself up enough. i can’t do that to you, too.”**

**“i don’t deserve you.”**

**“i don’t think either of us do.”**

**“no, i don’t care what you’re telling yourself, you deserve to be happy, john. whatever i can do that will bring that back. if you want me to get out of your life forever, if you want me to leave the apartment and never bother you again, if you want to get all the toxic shit i’ve done to you out of your life, i will. if you want to try again - and i’m not saying you have to, but if you want to - i swear to you that i will never hurt you like this again. it’s the stupidest mistake i’ve ever made. but it’s not about me, i… i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have said that, this is just… it’s up to you.”**

**john looks up at him from where his eyes were trained on the floor.**

**“i need time. i need to think about stuff. i don’t know what that means yet, i’m sorry, but… time.”**

**alex nods just barely. “time.”**

**“but... i’m going to keep this.” the key turns over in john’s palm, sliding it back into his pocket, placing his hand on the ground. “i loved you, you know that. i think i still do. i don’t trust you, but i love you. so i’m keeping it.”**

**something in alex’s eyes, not like hope, but maybe the idea of it. a raindrop on the battlefield, the cemetery of sunflowers crushed under dead bodies and drowned in blood - a single raindrop.**

**“no promises, though.” john says quietly.**

**“okay,” alex swallows, and finally manages to stop crying long enough to catch his breath.**

**no more words, tangible silence, closed eyes and steady breathing.**

**john leans forward, and hooks his pinky finger with Alex’s.**

**Author's Note:**

> I've seen a few fics out there about Alex cheating on John, so here's me trying my hand at one.
> 
> I have no excuse for this.
> 
> Warning for self harm, depression, panic attacks, self loathing, lack of proper capitalization like everywhere, and the most confusing formatting in the entire world.


End file.
